


sat and stared through those trembling moments

by kimaracretak



Category: Star Trek: Deep Space Nine
Genre: F/F, F/M, Holodeck Character, Holodecks/Holosuites, Identity Issues, Past Character Death, memory and its implausibilities
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-02-08
Updated: 2016-02-08
Packaged: 2018-05-18 16:44:11
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,546
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5935543
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/kimaracretak/pseuds/kimaracretak
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>(I knew you well; your regrets, your wishes, / Your secret names, your dreams unleashed.): Years later, after the war, she will think that probably both those stories were wrong: it had nothing to do with Ezri at all and everything to do with Jadzia, tucked safe away in the symbiont, seeing how much Ezri was struggling and trying, in her own way, to fix things. But the war is very far from over the first time the holosuite doors open.</p>
            </blockquote>





	sat and stared through those trembling moments

**Author's Note:**

  * For [weakinteraction](https://archiveofourown.org/users/weakinteraction/gifts).



> title + summary quote from stream of passion, "breathing again"

Ezri finds the holoprogram by accident. This is what she tells herself, at first, and then what she tells Worf and Ben, when she realises this is something that needs to be shared. But she knows, even as she tells the story, that it's not quite right _._

This is the story that she tells: She's only been on the station two weeks, and she's exhausted, desperate for something, anything to take her mind off the war. She scrolls through the programme list with only half an eye on the titles, and chooses one that she recognises is in Trill, though her foggy mind doesn't actually process the words.

This is how it really goes: She's had, possibly, the worst day of the fourteen that she's spent on Deep Space 9 so far; from waking up in the morning convinced she was still Emony, to a frustratingly unproductive session with Garak, to seeing her pre-joining best friend's sister's ship on the evening casualty reports. She goes to the holosuites because she wants _her_ programme, her special one, the one that she's spent years building up to create the perfect sanctuary. She enters her personal code into the pad by Holosuite 2's door by rote, and it never occurs to her that something might be different.

(Years later, after the war, she will think that probably both those stories were wrong: it had nothing to do with Ezri at all and everything to do with Jadzia, tucked safe away in the symbiont, seeing how much Ezri was struggling and trying, in her own way, to fix things. But the war is very far from over the first time the holosuite doors open.)

But in any version of the story, this is what happens next: The holosuite doors hiss open, and Ezri finds herself face to face with ... herself.

No, looking _up_ at herself.

No, looking up at _Jadzia._

"Hey," Jadzia says, and Ezri sways back against the closed doors. _No, no, no, this can't be happening._ This isn't happening. It can't be, so it isn't, this, whatever this is, Jadzia, she can't be here. Her identity confusion has always been in her head, not outside.

Jadzia is still talking, and Ezri's tired mind tries to tune back in in a desperate attempt to escape from wondering _how_ this is possible. "-- don't know why I'm doing this, really. Even if I die, Dax will still be here. But why not? Apparently you can even program this to be an _interactive_ recording."

Ezri can barely breathe. "Computer, e-end programme," she manages to say, barely more than a whisper. "Doors," she adds before Jadzia has even started to fade.

If she stumbles a bit falling through the exit she had forgotten she was leaning against, well, people expected that from _Ezri_ Dax.

 

***

 

Ezri can't sleep that night. Which isn't, on its own, that different from usual, but it's never been like this before: kept awake by memories not of _being_ Dax's other hosts but _seeing_ them. Ezri isn't supposed to see, not unless it's her _zhian'tara_ and even then she wouldn't get to see their faces. Ezri is supposed to _remember_ , but she doesn't know yet how to sift through Jadzia's memories and find a way to make sense of what she saw.

Her last thought before sleep claims her is that she wishes she were one of her previous hosts, anyone who meant she wouldn't have to fall asleep alone tonight.

 

***

 

She wakes up desperate to see Jadzia again, and seeks out Quark as soon as she has a free minute the next day. Dax's curiosity curls softly at the edges of her mind, and she wonders which host helped make this decision during the night. She's only really good at differentiating between past hosts when she thinks she _is_  one of them.

"Ezri," Quark greets her with what she supposes is a smile. "My second-favourite Trill. What can I do for you?"

It's not exactly kind, certainly not as kind as he would have been to Jadzia, but it's little different from how he treats anyone else, and for that, at least, she's grateful. "I need to ask you something," she says, giving the crowded bar an uneasy glance. "About the holosuites."

"I assure you, all programmes used are _completely_ confidential." Quark slips into businessman mode with an ease Ezri almost envies. "Are you looking for something ... specific?" His voice lowers, and yes, the smile is definitely a leer now. Ezri tries very hard not to think about the possibilities his mind is conjuring up, but is pretty sure her burning cheeks give her away.

"What? N-no, it's not, I'm not looking for anything like that. I-I just. Do you know all the programmes in the holosuites?" The last words come out in a rush, but something like understanding dawns in Quark's eyes.

He turns and motions one of his staff to cover for him, slides out from behind the bar. It's still strange being somewhat closer in height to him. "You found her recording," he says, not a question, and all Ezri can do is nod. "I wondered, last night, when I saw her code in the logs."

 _Her_ code. "You kept..." He had kept Jadzia's access code active for the holosuite doors, not bound by Starfleet protocols about officers' deaths. She had entered Jadzia's code last night, not her own, muscle memory living on in fingers that hadn't typed that sequence before.

Quark half-shrugs, and Ezri doesn't need to be a trained counselor to know he's embarrassed. "Yeah, well. Some of the things she said, about joining. Made me think it might be a good idea."

And now it's Ezri's turn to be embarrassed, embarrassed at the sudden swell of gratitude within her, embarrassed that for all of her memories she hadn't known Jadzia had made those recordings, embarrassed that she hadn't understood until now why Jadzia tolerated Quark, much less liked him.

"Can I ... can I see her again?" she asks hesitantly.

"Yeah," and something about him seems softer now. "Ten minutes before closing. Holosuite 2. Stay ... as long as you need."

" _Thank_ you," Ezri says, trying to put too many unnameable emotions into two words. Ezri Tigan's instinct to hug him rises up, but she pushes it away, settling for a tremulous smile as Quark retreats behind the bar again.

 _Good girl_ , Dax, one of them, whispers against her mind, and she only stumbles a little when Quark calls, "And, Ezri? Whenever you need." after her as she leaves.

 

***

 

"Hey," Jadzia's hologram says that night, as Ezri takes in the image properly this time. The hologram is in grey sweats and a faded purple t-shirt, hair in a much looser ponytail than regulations would allow. _My favourite shirt off-duty,_ Ezri thinks, before amending it: _Her favourite shirt. Ours._

"Everyone seems to be doing these, now, and I don't know why I'm doing this, really. Even if I die, Dax will still be here. But why not? Apparently you can even program this to be an _interactive_ recording." She paces restlessly, more of her room growing visible as she moves. These quarters, too, Ezri remembers.

"It's funny. Recordings are funny. The things we choose to be remembered in multiple ways..." Jadzia trails off, laughing slightly. She runs a hand through her hair, flops inelegantly down on the couch. "Apparently if I talk enough, this thing learns about me. Can even respond. _God_ , that must be so weird for people watching this. Half me, half not. Do you think they'll be able to tell the difference between me, my recording and me, the hologram?"

 _Yes,_ Ezri thinks immediately. _Yes, me, I would._ But the doubt sets in almost immediately.

"So, let's try." Jadzia props her chin on her fist and looks up, eyes sparkling. "This programme's active, if I'm talking, which means someone's watching. Who are you?"

And Ezri's first impulse is to lie. She remembers Dax's multiple deaths, the agonising ones and the blissfully short ones, and she knows the relief that Dax feels every time a new host opens their eyes because the transfer _worked._ Suddenly she almost can't bear to tell Jadzia, even a hologram, that she died. But she also can't bear to lie. "I'm ... Dax," she says softly. "Ezri Dax. Right ... right after you."

"Oh," Jadzia says, and even with Ezri's knowledge of Jadzia living within Dax within her, she can't read the hologram's expression. "When are -- when did I --" _When did I die?_

Ezri is already deciding that that, _definitely_ is a question she won't answer truthfully, but Jadzia shakes her head. "No. No, never mind, I don't want to know. I can't do anything about it, anyway."

Ezri breathes a sigh of relief, and hopes the hologram isn't so interactive that it picks up on it, but Jadzia's eyes narrow. "You look so young," she says, and in her words Ezri feels the echo of Dax, when she first woke up: _even younger than the last one_.

"I-I am," she falters. "It -- the joining was -- it was very sudden. I'm so sorry." It's hard to force the words out around the tightness in her throat. Jadzia already died, this hologram is never going to die, it shouldn't be this hard but it is.

"It's okay," Jadzia says softly. She reaches out a hand, and if Ezri were just a bit closer it would be resting on her arm. "I'm not really gone, you know. I'm still with Dax. Let us help you."

Oh, if only it were that easy. Ezri can't speak, feels like she can barely breathe. "I'll. I'll try. Doors."

It's very easy to pretend that she's imagining the regret in Jadzia's eyes as the exit materialises behind her.

 

***

 

Knowing exactly what she has to do next doesn't make it any easier.

"Worf," she says the next day, not quite cornering him in the turbolift as they exit Ops together at the end of their shift. He doesn't do as good of a job at hiding the fact that he flinches away from her voice as he would like to, and she's not sure she does a better one at hiding the fact that it hurts. She -- Jadzia -- Dax -- part of her still loves him so much.

"What?" he says, and at least it's civil.

"There's. There's something you need to see." Her voice sounds surprisingly steady. Worf just raises an eyebrow. "Please, it's -- it's really important to me. Can you just ... meet me at Quark's, tonight, ten minutes before closing?"

Worf sighs, and Ezri, for all her skill as a counselor and as someone who used to be his wife, has no idea what he's thinking. "Fine," he says at last. "For her." He still won't say Jadzia's name in front of her, but this ... it feels like some sort of progress, and Ezri feels a little bit lighter for the first time since she saw Ben's face back on Earth.

 

***

 

Ezri doesn't see Worf immediately -- Quark's is packed, even at ten minutes to closing -- and thinks, at first, that maybe he decided not to come after all. For a moment she's ... relieved, almost, at the thought that she doesn't have to share Jadzia (or at least this part of her) with him after all. But then she sees him talking to Quark in the shadows of the far corner.

She weaves her way through the bar, trying not to spill anyone's drink or get caught under anyone's feet -- or tentacles -- and hovers awkwardly next to them. "Um," she says, because there's no way anything about this will be not-awkward.

"Ezri," Worf says, and she grits her teeth at the way he over-enunciates her name.

"Please, Worf, just..." But finishing that sentence would require knowing what she, what _Ezri_  wants.

It's Quark, oddly enough, who breaks the tension. "Holosuite 2," he says, trying to make himself even smaller. "I'm sure you all will have a lot to talk about. And that it will be ... fine."

 

***

 

And here's the funny thing: it is fine. Not immediately, not the first time when she takes Worf's hand in front of the holosuite doors, doors that open on a smiling Jadzia's face. Not when she spends days thinking about something sick and sad deep in her stomach. She is Dax now, she should be the one holding Jadzia's memory still and close and crystal-clear. It should be her bringing Jadzia's words, Jadzia's light to her old-new friends and loved ones, not the photon and silicon facsimile of the holosuite.

And yet. She had never wanted this. Never learned about it, never prepared for it. She hardly knows how to exist with herself as a joined Trill, much less other people, much less her last self's friends. There's rules about this for a reason, she thinks regretfully. Rules that Dax, moreso than any other symbiont, wouldn't follow.

She visits Jadzia more and more often, even after her identities start to settle more easily. Counselors make the worst patients, but talking to Jadzia isn't like talking to another counselor. Jadzia, even in this half-life -- and Ezri starts to suspect very early on that this is more than just some programmable recording, but that it's learning from her, from Ezri Dax and from Jadzia Dax within her -- is vibrant and smart and kind. Ezri, who had started out so close to hating Jadzia for giving her an impossible legacy, starts to fall just as impossibly in love with her.

"Sometimes I can't believe we've let this Cold War with the Romulans go on so damn long," the recording says one day, much later, as whispers swirl in Starfleet of yet more secret plots to keep the Romulans in the war. "I mean, at least they'll drink with you." Ezri still watches the recordings when she's not actually talking to Jadzia, tries to match the diaries to the memories. They don't always fit, and she's honestly somewhat grateful for the mismatch. It makes Jadzia seem so much more real. So much more like someone she could be.

"Oh, come here," Ezri sighs. She learned quickly that, apart from the very first question in the very first diary, Jadzia wouldn't actually initiate any sort of contact with the hologram's viewer, despite her ever-increasing ... presence? Sentience? Ezri should want to know, but she doesn't.

Jadzia complies, flopping down next to Ezri on the sofa and pulling her down to rest her head in her lap. "You're doing so much better now, Ezri," she says, and in Ezri's mind, Dax -- Jadzia? -- murmurs agreement.

"Because of you," Ezri is quick to point out, though Jadzia's fingers in her hair are giving her several reasons to not think, just relax.

"No," Jadzia says, and though there's a smile in her voice there's also steel. "Because of you, as well. Jadzia can't make you Ezri Dax. Neither can Dax, on their own. If you hadn't wanted this, you wouldn't still be here."

And there's nothing she can say to that, really, nothing that would be true. So she settles for leaning up just far enough to plant a quick kiss on Jadzia's lips, for feeling her smile grow even wider.

Deep within her mind, Ezri, Dax, and Jadzia are all content.


End file.
